


The Cut Sleeve

by Delphi



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: From Sex to Love, M/M, Romance, Sleepy Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-09
Updated: 2011-07-09
Packaged: 2017-10-21 05:00:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/221204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delphi/pseuds/Delphi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Zuko stays the night, Jee does not cut off his own arm, and everything changes after the storm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cut Sleeve

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2011 round of Kink Bingo. Kink: "Sleepy/Unconscious"

A tale was told, in certain quarters, about a certain fire lord of old who shared his bed with a certain young army captain. One morning, the fire lord awoke early to attend to urgent matters of state but found that the sleeve of his gold-embroidered silk robe was pinned beneath the sleeping captain's cheek. So moved was the fire lord by the sight of his lover that, rather than wake him, he cut the sleeve from his robe, ruining the priceless garment and leaving the captain to his rest.

The captain would not have returned the favour, Jee decided when he first heard this. He was a mere midshipman at the time, but if he had ever been romantic, serving on the front lines of the Earth Kingdom had clipped that tender bud. Certainly, all the lieutenant he was sleeping with at the time—the one who had in fact related the tale to him—did when Jee overslept the next morning was boot him out of his hammock and bark for him to get his ass moving.

Sleep was sacred in the navy, but sentiment was not. Still, he had to admit. It made a good story.

* * *

The prince only comes to his bed in the dark, wisping in like a spirit and always gone long before first light. Jee knows not to flatter himself. He bathes, and he's interested, and he's the only man on board besides the prince and the general with a private cabin. He isn't stupid either. Prince Zuko isn't looking for a lover; he's just sixteen years old and bored, hot-blooded and adrift on a ship full of old men.

The first time it happened was a little over two years after they had left Fire Nation waters. Who knows what prompted it. Maybe Jee hadn't been as discreet as he'd thought, eyeing the boy—who was swiftly growing out of that unfortunate state—during their deck-top training sessions. Maybe the prince had gotten a taste for something rough in one of their less reputable ports and was looking for more. Or maybe it was just that the ship had been running slow for weeks, and all of them were freezing their asses off around the North Pole, tense and restless among the icebergs. All he knows is that one night he opened his eyes in the darkness to sense the unmistakable presence of someone else in his cabin. His palms flashed hot, and he nearly fired, but something stopped him.

You grew to know your men by sound and smell as well as sight when you shared a ship this long. Pent up between iron walls, you couldn't avoid it if you wanted to. Cassia incense. Sandalwood soap. Adolescent sweat. It was the brat prince himself standing beside the bed, breathing quick and anxious but trying to hide it.

His first thought was that they had been boarded. His sleep-jumbled mind conjured pirates or Water Tribe rebels and the prince stealing away from the melee to find him. The ship was running quiet, though—or at least as quiet as she ran—and he opened his mouth to ask what the hell was going on, but Zuko was already climbing into his bed.

Chilled skin and cool silk brushed against his naked body as the prince settled in stiffly beside him. The night was moonless, and Jee couldn't see two inches in front of his face, but he was certain he could feel the presence of that familiar scowl.

"Cold, Prince Zuko?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

The prince said nothing, but he tensed up tellingly. Jee rolled onto his side, his hand questing under the blankets. It slid up the prince's arm from a tightly clenched fist, over straining muscle, to a shoulder that hadn't been nearly so broad six months ago.

Jee snorted. "Fine."

He figured odds were equal on the prince trying to put him off the ship tomorrow whether he said yes or no. His hand moved down, finding the prince already half-hard. You couldn't pay him enough to be that age again.

The drawstring knot gave way easily, and he got his hand under the silk. Zuko drew in a rough breath, his hips pushing up eagerly. It had been a while since Jee had put hands on anyone but himself, and just the feel of the smooth, hot flesh hardening under his palm was enough to get his own fire stoked. That was probably for the best, as the presumptuous brat made no move to touch him in turn.

He grabbed the prince by the hips and roughly flipped him over. He might have been outranked on land, but he wasn't going to be mounted by a puppy on his own ship or waste ten minutes of good sleep sucking off the royal heir like a good little commoner.

The squawk of protest he expected never came—just a faint, annoyed huff as the prince's pants were yanked down off his narrow hips. Jee gave himself a few rallying strokes, working himself up properly, and then at a nudge he was in the smooth, tight grip of the prince's thighs. His breath caught in his throat as the prince's muscles flexed.

"Good," he whispered, and Zuko arched up against him.

Jee wasn't stingy. His hand insinuated itself between boy and bed, and he angled his strokes, nudging behind the kid's plums and driving him into his grip with every slow thrust. He knew how to fuck without so much as stirring the next hammock, and he thought he might have to clap his other hand over the prince's mouth, but Zuko was more restrained than he'd given him credit for. His breath came hard, but he didn't cry out, not even when Jee's hand urged him to a finish that left him shivering and gasping and audibly clawing at the sheets.

It was only when Jee himself came, spilling against those silky thighs, that a small rough sound was gulped back beneath him, followed by a long, shaky sigh.

"Shh," he said, withdrawing and rolling back. He licked his dry lips and was about to offer the prince a drink for the road, so to speak, when Zuko twisted his way off the bed.

Jee could barely hear the sound of the prince's bare feet quickly crossing the floor, but then the door creaked softly and the lamplight from the corridor spilled in for an instant. Then the kid was gone, leaving only a black hair on the pillow and yet another mess for Jee to clean up.

He didn't figure on the prince coming back—only he did, three nights later, and then four nights after that, again and again each time the watches lined up right. Sometimes it was two nights in a row, and sometimes it was weeks in between, but two things were as constant as the tide: Zuko only stole into his cabin if the lights were off, and afterwards, he never stayed longer than he had to.

* * *

Except.

Jee wakes up in the early morning following the storm to find the prince asleep beside him, naked and warm. The sun is still beneath the horizon, but the grey light is clear enough to see by. The days slide together in his tired mind, and it takes a grope under the covers to ascertain that he hasn't slept a whole day longer than he should have. Zuko was here last night...and he's still here.

He rolls over blearily. The prince smells like rain and seawater, as he did last night when he slid shivering into Jee's bed. Why is he still here? Maybe Jee fell asleep on top of him, but they're side by side now, and Zuko's face is still and peaceful, his eyes gently shut and his lips slightly parted. His hair is loose, falling in a messy curtain that half hides his face. The scar is clear, however, a darker grey than the rest of him.

Jee is used to marred men—rough spots and missing limbs—but the thought of just why they're all better off away from home shores and Fire Lord Ozai's benevolent rule is fresh in his mind, and in this moment, the juxtaposition of the dark, drawn skin and the rest of Zuko's body, which is silk-smooth and pale, still unmarked by life, makes his throat tighten.

He carefully lifts his hand. It hovers, hesitant. He doubts the prince is a sound sleeper by habit, but a storm can take a lot out of a man. His own bones are still aching, and his head is heavy, and maybe that's why he's stupid enough to want to touch the kid's face. He doesn't, of course. His fingertips trail lightly down Zuko's chest instead.

Zuko sighs and turns onto his side, all but rolling into Jee's arms. Jee holds still, carefully watching for signs of surfacing, but the prince is still sound asleep. Or at least most of him is. There's a positively perky morning erection pressing into his thigh. He reaches down and softly strokes it. Zuko hums in his sleep, wiggling into his embrace in a manner that might be called snuggling in anyone less headstrong.

Jee holds his breath and, careful not to make any sudden movements that could end with the bed on fire, lets himself explore the way he might with a real lover. His fingers strum down the prince's spine, down to the curve of the pretty royal backside. He gently squeezes, then lets his thumb rub in between, brushing over the hot, puckered skin.

The prince gives up a faint moan, his damp mouth pressing to Jee's shoulder. An image flashes through his mind of Zuko awake and naked, on his back with his long legs spread and bent and his hands braced against the headboard. The kid knows how to be quiet, but Jee thinks he could make him noisy if he really tried.

He traces the sharp angle of the prince's hip, and then the soft fullness of his plums, which are already drawn up tight. Zuko frots against him, a clear wet drop smearing against his bare leg. This time the quiet moan has an edge to it, and if Jee were any younger, the flare of heat in his loins at the sound of it would kindle into something more.

"Shh," he says, his mouth against the prince's throat. He licks the pale skin, which tastes of sea salt, and then moves down to a dark nipple. He takes it into his mouth, sucking gently.

"Ah..." Zuko cries out softly. His brow is creased, but his breathing still comes slowly.

"Shh," he hushes again. He takes his time, pressing his luck with soft, greedy caresses as the sleeping prince writhes against him. Who is he dreaming of? Some girl back home, perhaps. Some handsome young man glimpsed in port. Or maybe it's only hands in the darkness, spreading him open and touching everywhere. An anonymous mouth at his throat, a tongue flickering across his nipples, lips brushing against his own just briefly.

The sun is peeking over the porthole, piercing the room with an arrow of light when Zuko gasps dreamily and spills into his waiting hand. The kid trembles, moaning, smacking his lips in his sleep. Then he eases, limp again in Jee's arms.

... _on_ Jee's arm to be more precise.

Jee curses silently when the changing of the watch is rung. The prince doesn't stir, snoring softly with his head pillowed on Jee's shoulder. He tries to ease out from under him, but Zuko makes a disgruntled sound and nudges closer. The kid has had a long day. The kid has had a long three years. He sighs, antsy but still as the second bell rings, and then the third.

It's an hour past dawn when Zuko finally rouses. Jee keeps his eyes shut, feigning sleep. He feels the prince tentatively sit up and can feel the scrutiny of a weighty gaze upon him. Then, after a moment, Zuko slips out of bed and finds his pants. Quiet footsteps cross the floor. The door opens and closes as near-silently as if it were the middle of the night.

* * *

"Lieutenant Jee, are you well?" General Iroh inquires when Jee finally makes it on deck, half an hour overdue for his watch. "It isn't like you to be late."

Jee adjusts his uniform. "I'm fine, General."

General Iroh peers up at him, his expression kindly concerned. "You haven't taken a chill, have you?"

He sets his jaw and straightens up, hoping to avoid any homemade recipes or folk teas. "No, sir. I apologize for my tardiness."

"I'm glad you're well." The general fixes him with one of those calculating looks that would not be out of place at the Pai Sho table. But then, the general always smiles when he plays Pai Sho. "I would hate to see you miss music night."

There is something all too knowing in the general's expression. Maybe Jee's relief at not being put off his ship was a few months premature. He opens his mouth, poised to protest that firstly, Prince Zuko is well of age, and secondly, they aren't lovers, and so thirdly, he has no obligation to formally press a suit or inform any relatives or do anything else a man in his position would do in a situation far more normal than this one. But at that moment the prince himself appears on deck.

Zuko strides towards the bow, standing straight with his hands folded behind his back. Not a thread or hair is out of place as he nods to them.

"Uncle. Lieutenant."

Jee nods back, and he finds his gaze lingering. Maybe it's just the brisk wind, but he could swear a touch of pink blooms on the prince's unmarked cheek.

When he looks back at the general, he knows it's too late to say anything except: "I'll be there."

"Good to hear," the general says and pats him on the shoulder twice with a heavy hand.

Jee goes about his duties, organizing a cleanup of the sediment and seaweed washed across the deck by the storm and scheduling maintenance checks, and as the long morning unfolds, his fingers move subtly in the air, practicing an invisible pipa—confessing in plucked strings and the Ballad of the Cut Sleeve.


End file.
